


I Like To Be Called Cupcake

by reyah



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Coach is a god, Emissary Alan Deaton, Endgame Sterek, Everything is Coach's fault, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Scott Could Be A Better Friend, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-15 22:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12330384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyah/pseuds/reyah
Summary: He was a God and he was stuck in Beacon Hills and his primary source of entertainment was murdered.Of course he was going to keep an eye on the hyperactive kid that could see gods. His other option was soap operas and he just wasn't there yet.





	1. Boredom Suits None Less Than A God

**Author's Note:**

> It is my headcanon that Coach Finstock is the Mad God of the Teen Wolf universe. So...this happened. I'll add tags + content warnings as I go. As always: Teen Wolf doesn't belong to me.

He’d never been called a kind god. He’d always been a dick, and he was okay with that. When someone pissed him off, they felt the Divine Wrath with a quickness.

But he almost felt bad about Derek Hale. 

Sure, he’d always intended for the Hale Pack to meet their overwhelming demise at the hands of Kate Argent. But not even a god, of which he was one, could’ve foreseen the brutal way that Kate had decided to carry out her mission. He couldn’t really approve of using a 16 year old boy’s hormones and love-stupid heart against him. 

So yeah, maybe he winced a little, watching the family burn in their own home. The centuries had certainly shown him worse, but…he found himself wishing he could take that one back. 

After the fire, he lost track of Derek Hale and his sister. Stuck in Beacon Hills — stupid tree stump out on the Preserve doing its stupid job — and suddenly without the werewolf family that had been his entertainment for years, he found himself at a loss. 

He’d never been bored before. It was a new sensation. He didn’t like it. 

Sure, Peter Hale was still in town, but the comatose fuck was…well… _comatose_. 

What was a god to do?

The answer was float around, invisible, and fuck with people. And he did that for about eight years. It wasn’t what he would’ve chosen to do, given the choice, but the Nemeton was doing a very good impression of a prison cell, keeping him from leaving city limits. So his options were to fuck around with the Beacon Hills population, or spend eternity watching soap operas. Not even telenovelas. Those at least had a sense of _drama_. 

Eight years really wasn’t much more than a blink to a god, normally. But despite that, the Nemeton made damn sure he experienced every ticking second as if he was a mortal. 

And then, sometime around mid-year eight, he wasn’t so invisible anymore. 

The kid had the biggest eyes and the fastest mouth he’d seen in years. The speed at which he spoke was only made more impressive by the number of curly fries that he had stuffed in it. 

The God we’ll call Cupcake for now hadn’t really expected to be caught trying to stick a straw into the new deputy’s ear, but sure enough, the kid was looking right at him. 

Cupcake froze, the straw a hair away from jabbing Deputy — he leaned over to read the name tag — Stilinski in the ear. Polish. 

Cupcake grinned. Ah, he had a special fondness for the Polish. 

“What are you doing?” The kid asked. 

The god scowled as the deputy answered the question that _pretty clearly wasn’t meant for him_.

“I’m filing paperwork, kiddo. You should be doing your homework.”

The kid rolled his eyes, and shoved another handful of curly fries into his mouth. 

“Not you, dad,” he said. The words were hardly understandable, but Deputy Stilinski had had plenty of practice understanding his son’s muffled words, and just shook his head. Cupcake tossed the straw on the desk as the kid aimed whiskey-brown eyes at him. 

“You can see me, huh?”

The kid nodded. 

Cupcake hmphed. “Come over here, kid.”

He led the preteen over to the water cooler no one used because everyone knew it would spray them directly in the crotch. Cupcake may have been the one to “alter” the faucet.

“What’s your name?” 

“Stiles.”

Cupcake snorted. “Your name is Stiles Stilinski? Do your parents hate you?”

Stiles scowled. “No one can pronounce my first name. Stiles is a _nickname_.”

The god shrugged. “Whatever you say, kid.”

“How come no one else can see you?”

Cupcake grinned, and leaned in _real close_ to Stiles’ face. “Because I’m a god, and I don’t want them to.”

“So how come I can see you?”

Cupcake stood up straight, and frowned. “I dunno.”

“Am I a god?” Stiles immediately asked.

“I don’t think so. I think you just have very good eyesight and a very long stubborn streak.”

In two years, one of those statements would be proven true, and in five, the other would be proven false. But Cupcake didn’t know that yet. 

But he was very intrigued by this child that could see gods. He also didn’t really want to be constantly on the lookout for the kid when he wanted to be…well, a dick. 

So he made a decision. 

And Bobby Finstock, econ teacher and lacrosse coach, was born.

 

 


	2. Hindsight Is A Bitch & She Has A Thing For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, if he'd just left it alone and ignored that tiny bit of guilt in the back of his head, /none/ of this would've happened. But hindsight has ever been his on-again, off-again lover, and apparently they're on once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Alright! Thank you to EVERYONE who has commented and sent kudos and bookmarked and subscribed! Your response to this has been overwhelmingly amazing and I'm so glad you're all enjoying this story. <3 Now, I will tell you that I am going to keep the chapters fairly short (somewhere between 500-1000 words) in order to keep turnaround decently fast. I'm working on original fiction at the same time for my Patreon & my main book in progress that's my baby. So, those do have to come first. But I am very much hoping that I won't leave y'all hanging on this. If you want to keep up with me, you can follow me on tumblr ( @mireyahwolfe) or on twitter (@mireyahwolfe). <3 Happy reading!
> 
> CW: None that I can think of, but feel free to comment with any you feel I should add.  
> As always: Teen Wolf is not mine!

In hindsight, he probably should’ve left well enough alone.

  
But that niggling feeling of vague guilt about the Hales had turned into full-blown angst about it — thanks, mortal body, amplifying all emotion which is just  _dumb_  — and one summer night,he just couldn’t take it anymore. 

So Bobby got into his car, an old red pickup truck that, by all rights, really wasn’t road-safe, and drove to Beacon Hills Memorial.

As far as the residents of Beacon Hills could remember, Bobby Finstock had been the lacrosse coach and economics teacher for years. Sure, he’d only really existed for about a year and a half, but being a god had its perks. Fiddling with memories was just one of those perks. 

He probably hadn’t really  _needed_  to alter anyone’s memories, since the Stilinski family was pretty new to the town, by all accounts. It wasn’t like Stiles was going to go around blabbing about being able to see gods, even if he had made the connection between his economics teacher and the deity he’d met. But Bobby felt better having an established reputation within the town as the eccentric and somewhat offensive coach that they all knew and loved, definitely not a deity by the name of Cupcake stuck in Bumfuck, California, visible only to teenagers. And no one could really blame him if that established reputation came with a weekly delivery of cherry cobbler from Mrs. Carson down the road. 

He’d never really gotten the hang of baking. 

But fussing with the memories of the town overall made it pretty easy to slip into the hospital without anyone batting an eye as he walked into the adjacent long-term care facility, and made his way to one specific room. 

Peter Hale looked like shit. 

“You look like shit,” Bobby muttered, running a hand through already-mussed hair. 

No response from Peter. But Bobby hadn’t entirely expected one. 

The werewolf laid in bed, pretty clearly having recently been bathed and cared for by the staff, but his eyes open and fixed on the window that looked out onto the twinkling lights of Beacon Hills. Bobby could almost see the wolf inside snarling with urge to run, and enraged by its lack of ability.

“Okay, so, this is probably too little, too late, but I’m here to make amends,” Bobby continued. “You were kind of a douche before the fire, but this is just sad. So, I’m gonna help you out. Admittedly, I would’ve preferred to help the kids, but…well…”

He spread his arms wide and gestured to the ceiling. “I’m kind of stuck in town, and they’re not here. So, you win the divine miracle lottery, ol’ buddy.”

He couldn’t  _heal_  Peter, per se. Especially since Peter was, technically, healing all on his own. But he could speed up the process that was taking for-fucking-ever on its own. 

Just in case, Bobby snapped his fingers and set up wards around the room to keep any nosy mortals from poking their heads in and getting all explode-y. 

It only took a minute, but it was enough to leave the god panting afterward. By all visible accounts, he had done nothing but place his hand on Peter’s chest and exhale a deep breath. But Bobby could see the effect he’d had on the wolf. He’d given the guy one hell of a jump-start, and a tiny kernel of self-satisfaction took root in his chest. 

And a few weeks later, right before the new semester began, they started to find the bodies.

Sitting in his office, staring at the news article on his laptop, Bobby Finstock slammed a hand on the desk.

“ _Motherfucker_.” 


	3. The Prodigal Daughter Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura didn't miss Beacon Hills, and had never intended to return. Yet, here she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is where the story starts to really diverge from canon. ^_^ This chapter is from Laura's POV -- very brief Coach at the very end. I love Laura Hale too much to not bring her in. 
> 
> Content Warnings: This chapter includes mentions of the fire, some descriptions of burned flesh, etc. This also includes Peter's attack on Laura, but it's very much a fade-to-black. 
> 
> As always: Teen Wolf does not belong to me.

Laura Hale had always wanted to leave Beacon Hills, and had always known it wouldn’t happen. Alphas didn’t leave their territories for long, and they certainly didn’t do so for silly human dreams. 

But then the fire took everything, so she took her brother — broken, empty Derek — and left California behind. She never planned on coming back. 

But there she was, sitting on the hood of her Camaro, staring up at the Beacon Hills’ Welcome sign. The crescent moon hung just above the edge of the sign, the stars hardly visible with the city lights. 

In the pocket of her jacket, the familiar, opening chords of _Black Parade_ rang out, and, like she always did, she smirked and dug the phone out. 

“I’m fine, Derek,” she said, answering the call. 

“I don’t like this,” her brother said. She could almost picture the angry slant to his eyebrows and the clench of his jaw. “It doesn’t feel right, Laura.”

“Aw, Der, I could almost think you cared.” In all honesty, she hadn’t heard Derek sound so intent in years, and it was almost like she had her brother back. Her chest ached, and she rubbed at the spot absentmindedly. She hadn’t just mourned the family that had died in the fire. The version of Derek she’d grown up with had disappeared after the fire, and she’d had to bury the hope of getting him back. She didn’t dare look at his concern as a sign of recovery. She’d been disappointed too many times. 

“Laura, you’re back in Beacon Hills _by yourself_. You have no back-up.”

“Derek, I’m just dropping in on Uncle Peter, and then I’m coming back to New York, I promise.” The call from Beacon Hills Memorial had been unexpected, but the idea that Peter had begun to visibly heal was not altogether unwelcome. Laura could only imagine what would come out of Peter’s recovery, but … god, she missed him. And she knew that Derek could only benefit from Peter’s return. 

“I don’t like it,” Derek repeated. His voice was on the edge of a growl. 

Laura growled back. Alone on the side of the road, she was comfortable letting her eyes flash red to let the sense of _Alpha_ rumble down the phone line. 

“Watch yourself, pup,” she snapped.

She immediately regretted it, could feel him retreat even from there. She looked up at the moon, gritting her teeth. _Damn it, Laura_.

“I’ll be home before you know it, Der-bear,” she said, the old nickname slipping out softly before she could stop it. “I lo—” 

A gust of wind hit her in the face with the sharp, familiar scent of _pack_ and _Peter_  so suddenly that her fangs dropped and her nostrils flared. What the fuck?

“Laura? Laura! Are you there?”

“I have to go, Der. I’ll call you back.”

“Laura, don’t —” _Click_. 

Laura shoved her phone back into her jacket, and hopped off the car. She took a second to sort through the different scents to lock onto the one she wanted, and once she had, she followed it. 

Peter led her into the Preserve, where the fading scent of pack — _oh gods, she could smell her mother, just a faint hint of lavender and rich soil, and her father, and…smoke_ — seemed so strong only because Laura instinctively latched onto it. 

Running at full speed, she burst out of the woods and slid to a stop in front of…the house. 

Red-eyed and fanged, she stared up at the old family house, tears streaming down her cheeks. The hollowed out husk of a home stank of old smoke and vaguely of burned flesh — Laura flinched away from it, nausea rolling in her stomach. 

“Peter?” she called out, trying to hold her breath. 

“Laura.”

She whirled around, finding him standing behind her on the edge of the woods. She gaped at him. He was still scarred, but his eyes were bright and aware, the same as she remembered him during her childhood. 

“Peter, you’re…you’re okay,” she whispered. Immediately, she knew she was wrong. He wasn’t okay, wasn’t the same. 

His eyes flared blue. 

Her lips parted, and she took a step back. 

He pounced.

 

~*~*~

 

Bobby knelt down next to the body, examining the wounds, and waved a hand over it to get a sense for how much he had to work with. 

“Y’know, I try to do _one good thing_ , and it all explodes in my face,” he muttered. “But good news, Laura, I might just be able to help you out. Here’s hoping this goes the way we want this time, yeah?” 

Keeping an ear out for movement in the woods, he got to work.


	4. Alone And Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ties that bind us are the ones most likely to break us...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so this chapter is /so short/ and I'm sorry for that. That wasn't my original intention -- this chapter was going to be multiple POVs and multiple scenes but...I kind of wanted to leave Derek's scene to stand on its own. SORRY <3 I promise there will be more very soon!! <3 
> 
> CW: Derek deals with panic + sudden loss.   
> As always: Teen Wolf isn't mine. ;)

_New York_

“Laura, don’t —” _Click_.

Derek stared down at the cell phone in his hand, the beginnings of fear taking flight in his chest. He sank into the old, worn-out couch, claws digging into the cushions as he fought off the edges of the panic starting to loom. 

“No, no, no,” he muttered, quickly dialing the so-familiar number and putting it to his ear again. “Laura, pick up. Please pick up. Goddamn it, _Laurie, pick up_.”

It rang.

And rang. 

He stared out the window of the apartment, hardly noticing the skyline of New York City laid out before him. Every part of him tense and waiting to hear her voice, exasperated and laughing, telling him he was too overprotective. But she didn’t. She didn’t answer. 

It wasn’t long before he felt it. 

He slid off the couch. 

No. 

Before he could process what was happening, his fangs had dropped and his claws were digging into the hardwood floor. Derek had long gotten used to the gaping hole where his family had once been, but he had always clung to that one remaining thread that pulsed **_Laura_**. It was the only thing that had kept him alive after the fire. It was all that made him get out of bed, eat, and groom himself. It was what had pushed him through school and the inanities of a day to day job. 

Laura had been his anchor for so long, he couldn’t comprehend of a world without her in it. 

He looked up and into his own reflection again, meeting his own glowing blue eyes. 

The thread was gone. 

 _ **Laura** _ was gone. 

He let out a broken sob and curled in on himself. 

She was gone, and he was alone.


	5. The Rules Are Flexible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby needs some help with breaking the rules. Derek needs his damn sister back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry about the long wait for this chapter! At 5am on October 22nd, I was admitted to the ER for an emergency cholecystectomy, which for the uninitiated is the fancy name for gallbladder removal! I was in the hospital until Monday afternoon, and for the majority of last week, I was pretty well hopped up or dead-ass asleep. So writing has been kind of low on my priority list. But I haven't forgotten this fic, and I promise, even if things are pretty slow while I get back up and running, I will continue to keep this going. Hang in there with me! (I now have a gnarly scar on my stomach. It's pretty cool.) 
> 
> As always: Teen Wolf does not belong to me!  
> CW: I don't think I need to add any, but if you notice anything pls let me know!

 

Bobby hated druids, but he hated none as much as _this_ one. 

The mountain ash in the front counter didn’t keep him out like it did the rest of the supernatural world, so he walked past it like any ordinary human, Laura Hale’s body draped over his shoulders like a bag of dog food. His sneakers squeaked obnoxiously over the linoleum floor, and he stepped a little harder, exaggerating the squeak until he could practically _feel_ the eye-roll from the other room. 

“Hello, Ch—”

“Uh-huh!” Bobby snapped without looking at the vet. He continued on into the room, wrinkling his nose. “Bad druid! Bad, bad druid! You know the rules!”

Deaton’s expression never really changed, but the room was suddenly filled with exasperation. “Do I seriously have to—”

“Yes. You seriously have to.” Bobby didn’t bother hiding his smirk as he laid the dead werewolf on the examining table. Honestly, there was no particular reason for the druid to follow Bobby’s rules, but a god trumped a druid every day, and the druid knew it. Plus, there was something _specifically satisfying_ about fucking with this particular druid. 

The druid sighed. “Your nickname is ridiculous. Can I at least call you by the mortal name you’ve been using?”

“No. I like my nickname.”

“Fine. Hello, Cupcake.”

Bobby’s smirk grew to a full blown grin. “Hello, Alan. How are you this fine full moon?”

Deaton gestured to the body. “I have a dead body on my operating table, a god smiling at me in the least appealing manner possible, and I haven’t had dinner yet. Frankly, my evening could be going better.”

“Honestly, man, you need a life. Maybe if you didn’t live here, you wouldn’t have to deal with this,” Bobby said, pointing at him. “Get a girlfriend."

Bobby glanced at the body. "Not her."

Deaton didn't even blink, but Bobby could feel the judgment. 

"She's dead. Don't think she's really up for a new relationship," Bobby muttered before clapping his hands loudly. The sound echoed through the tiny room, drawing an almost imperceptible wince out of Alan. "Anyway! Need to bring her back to life. Wanna help?”

“Is that Laura Hale?”

“Yep.”

“Isn’t resurrection against the rules for you?”

Bobby wiggled his hand. “The rules are flexible.”

Deaton raised a brow. 

“By flexible, I mean that I ignore them when I want to, and this happens to be one of those times. Put down the judgy eyebrow.” 

Deaton shook his head, but began to examine the rapidly fading marks on Laura’s chest. Bobby had already jump-started the process back in the Preserve. Once she was properly alive again, her wolf would take care of healing the wounds on the inside, but Bobby hadn’t wanted her to have to look at what her uncle had done to the surface. He owed the girl that much. Maybe he didn't owe her a full on resurrection, but that was really his choice to make and nobody could really  _blame_ him for going a little overboard with trying to even things out with the Hale ... did she count as a matriarch? Bobby mentally shrugged. She was the closest the family had left. 

“Are you gonna help me or not?”

Deaton looked up at the god for a long moment — taking in the wild hair, wilder eyes (eyes that held some glint that Alan hadn't seen before, a deadly focus that said he was going to agree or be invited to fuck off) and the blood long caked to his shirt — before simply nodding. 

“What do you need from me?”

 

* * *

 

 

**_Welcome To Beacon Hills_ **

Derek stared at the sign, his boots sinking into the wet mud, the moisture in the air dampening any linger scent of his sister that might’ve still been there. But the Camaro was there, so she had to be around somewhere. His wolf had to be wrong. She had to be alive. There were any number of reasons why the pack bonds could’ve been broken. Death was just one, and it was the one he refused to accept. 

He called a tow truck for his rental, got in his sister’s car, and drove to the Preserve. He’d find answers. 

He’d find Laura.

 

* * *

 

 

The human’s anxiety smelled like oil and smoke, an underlying medicinal scent misting around the edges, fading as time passed. 

Derek took note of it, but his wolf focused on the packless beta, his nostrils flaring as he identified the familiarity of the pack scent and the strangeness of not-pack. His wolf snarled on the inside, confused and frustrated by the lack of clearly defined lines. Trying to keep control, his words came out harsher than intended — he needed Laura. Laura made everything so much easier. She was the one that talked to people.

She was the one that smoothed ruffled hackles and made friends with a slick smile and a cheerful handshake. He was the quiet one, standing in the background, waiting for the building to collapse around them.

He didn’t do interaction, and damn it, Laura knew that. Why did she — Derek cut off the thought. He’d find her. She was fine. 

Everything would be okay.

 

 


	6. Wolfy Yoda, He Is Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles needs help. Stiles needs better lead in questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on my phone -- unbeta'd. Any errors are mine. 
> 
> Disclaimer: TW does not belong to me.  
> CW: none that I can think of.

 

Despite appearances, Stiles actually did like Allison. She was damn smart, appreciated sarcasm, and she smiled at Scott like he hung the moon -- and Stiles would protect anything that made Scott smile that he actually _had_ wrestled the moon to the sky.

Stiles' main issue with Allison had little to do with Allison herself and more with her ridiculously bad timing. Showing up in Scott's life _right now_ was clearly some deity's idea of a bad joke, and frankly, Stiles didn't care for it. He wasn't laughing. He was, in fact, quite distinctly scowling. He didn't have the energy or time to deal with Scott being both a love-angsted teenager _and_ a freakin werewolf. If anyone knew that Scott couldn't handle both, it was Stiles. So while Scott panted after the pretty brunette, Stiles was the one left to figure out all the ins and outs of wolflihood.

And despite the quick math that had led him to the conclusion of werewolf, there was actually surprisingly little on the internet beyond basic superstition. After making Scott hold every silver item they could find and getting no reaction, Stiles was forced to conclude that most of the superstition was probably bogus.

And...that meant Stiles had one resource left.

Sitting in his jeep outside the crumbling structure _no one_ would call a home, Stiles flailed a short tantrum because damn it he didn't _want to talk to Derek Hale._ And if he got it out of his system now, maybe he'd manage to be a civil adult.

He wasn't gonna be happy about it but he could do it.

He hadn't realized that Derek Hale had even less desire to talk than he did. Which is why Stiles was actually offended when the door slammed in his face.

Well.

The top half of the door, since rot and termites had cleaved the wood in two. Stiles could still see Derek's legs on the other side.

They both stood there for a long moment. The silence grew with humor and frustration the longer it went on until Stiles couldn't take it anymore and just started laughing.

"Jesus Christ, okay. I'm sorry. That was just--" Stiles hiccuped another giggle, clutching his stomach as he tried to catch his breath. It took him a minute. But Derek's legs stayed on the other side of the door.

Like a champ, Stiles managed to ignore the fact that Derek's jeans had to be a size too small because otherwise the man's thighs were just too good to be true. So Stiles chose to believe Derek was bad at clothes.

"Listen, dude, I need your help. I don't want to ask for it. You don't wanna give help. We are equally fucked if we don't get over that and do it anyway. Scott will continue to blunder into things like an idiot, and you'll never get him on your side. Especially with those eyebrows of yours."

 The legs tensed.

Stiles bet himself 10 bucks that those eyebrows had just slammed tight above Derek's eyes, and when the top half of the door swung open again, he awarded himself the money he didn't have. Honestly, what a sucker's bet.

"What do you want?"

"Be our wolfy Yoda, and I'll do my best to get Scott on your side. 

Derek didn't seem to react to the Star Wars reference so Stiles assumed that, like a recluse that clearly hated fun, he hadn't seen the movies.

"Yoda is, like, a _mentor_ \--" 

"I know who Yoda is, Stiles," Derek bit out. "Fine. Come on."

He left the doorway, leaving it open for Stiles to follow. Stiles hummed to himself, kind of surprised it had gone that well.

"So, silver is definitely bullshit so what _does_ kill a werewolf?"

 Stiles probably shouldn't have led with that question.

 

* * *

 

Laura woke with a snarl and the taste of blood on her tongue.

 


	7. In A Perfect World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan has a headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AlRIGHT y'all! I'm really feeling the flow right now, so I might be adding some more pretty rapid-fire, so I hope you're enjoying this LOL 
> 
> Disclaimer: Teen Wolf is not mine.
> 
> Content Warnings: None that I can think of. Let me know if you see anything that I should tag for. :)

Most of the time, Alan Deaton loved his job. Magic was inherently  _interesting_ and complex, and he found that most supernatural creatures were happy to have someone that knew how to help when the shit hit the fan. He genuinely enjoyed learning new things about new species, and he had an incredibly detailed series of notebooks filled with his notes. Alan  _liked_ learning, and there was nothing as interesting as the supernatural. They broke all the rules, invented new ones, and then broke those. It was fascinating, and he loved it. 

But then, sometimes, Alan hated his job and it was never so much as when he had to deal with "Cupcake".

Cupcake wasn't even in the building anymore, and Alan was developing a tension migraine in each temple. Briefly, he reached up to rub at the sides of his head, pressing in at the pressure point in an attempt to lessen the brewing pain. 

Cupcake wasn't there, but he had sure as shit left behind Laura Hale. 

Alan had no issue with Laura Hale. He was glad Cupcake had made the (very strange, very out of left field) decision to bring her back from death. No doubt, he was confused by the decision, but overall, he approved of it. The girl had been an apt and clever student during the brief time he had known her, before the fire. Her mother had been almost annoyingly proud of her. And Talia Hale had been many things to Alan, but annoying had rarely been one of them. 

What he had a problem with was that the second they had completed the process of returning Laura Hale's spirit to her body, and her heart had begun to beat again -- albeit sluggishly -- Cupcake had disappeared, leaving Deaton with a half-murdered werewolf in his examining room. When Laura's hands started to clench, claws digging into the metal of the table, Alan grabbed the big jar of mountain ash and slowly drew a circle around her. He didn't expect it to hold her for long, but on the off chance she came back feral, he'd have time to get the fuck out of dodge. 

It took longer than he expected, and he'd begun to doze off when she woke. 

She jerked upright, snarling, and eyes glowing yellow -- Alan frowned. That was...that was  _wrong._

Cupcake must've done it wrong. 

Laura Hale was supposed to be an alpha. 

She turned to look at him, the glow fading from her eyes. She rolled from the table, landing gracefully on the floor, crouched and still staring at him. 

"Dr. Deaton?" Laura whispered. She stood and took a step, immediately stopped by the barrier he had created. 

"I apologize, Laura. I was unsure as to the state you would return in. Better safe than sorry," Alan explained as Laura took in the mountain ash. Her eyes flared yellow briefly, but she closed them, shook her head, and opened them a moment later -- her eyes had returned to the pale green Alan knew. 

"I wish I could say I understood, Doc, but to be honest, I don't understand anything right now. How about you fill me in?" 

In a perfect world, Laura Hale would've taken the gift of resurrection without a single question -- opting to avoid the gift horse's mouth, and allowing Deaton the wonderful option of not having to lie but not being forced to tell the truth either. In a perfect world, Laura Hale would've come back as an alpha. 

Hell. Even Alan knew that, in a perfect world, Talia Hale was still among the living and Laura didn't  _have_ to be the alpha. 

But this presented an issue. 

Alan absolutely could not tell anyone about Cupcake. 

Even if he had wanted to, he quite literally could not make his body communicate the words necessary -- in writing nor in speech -- to reveal the deity to anyone. Cupcake could've still been standing there, introduced himself, and Deaton would not be able to refer to him at all. 

Over the years, Alan had never regretted his hand in binding Cupcake to Beacon Hills. He had always been of the opinion that it had been a good decision. Sometimes, he'd even felt  _righteous_ , vaguely  _proud_ , of his hand in it, considering the nature of the deity himself. 

That said, Alan regretted it now. 

Because he wasn't entirely sure how he could explain bringing Laura back from the dead without the ability to also tell her about Cupcake. 

"You should sit down, Laura. I'll explain as much as I can, but I'll need you to trust me when I say that there are some things I genuinely cannot tell you," Alan finally said. This was Talia's daughter. He couldn't tell her about Cupcake, but he didn't have to lie to her either. 

He hoped. 

For the sake of Talia's memory -- something Alan held closely and quietly in his heart -- he hoped. 


	8. Scattered Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My luck has ever been a raging bitch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wiggly fingers* Another chapter! I hope y'all enjoy it and keep coming back for the next ones! <3 
> 
> Disclaimer: Teen Wolf isn't mine.  
> CW: Mentions of blood, but that's about it.

"I died." 

Laura sat back down, the blood in her mouth and holes in her previously pristine clothing suddenly making a lot more sense. Deaton had spun a much shorter tale than she'd expected, but even she could see the giant holes in it. But he had asked her to trust him, and so she would. For now. She had every intention of finding out what he wasn't telling her, but she'd let him keep his secrets for the moment. She had other, larger concerns. 

She couldn't remember who had killed her. 

But whoever it was had stolen her power as an Alpha, and that was  _not_ good. 

"...my condolences," Deaton said. 

She flicked a glance up at the vet and huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, thanks, I guess." 

Laura ran her hand through her hair, ignoring the stickiness of her own blood in favor of getting her hair out of her eyes. Blood wasn't new to her. 

"I don't suppose whoever brought me to you happened to share  _who_ killed me?" Laura asked, crossing her fingers in futile hope. 

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, no."

"Of course not. My luck has ever been a raging bitch," she muttered. "Alright. Well." She hopped off the table again and shook out the loose dirt from her shoulders and hair, along with the tension and lingering pain in her bones. Summoning every ounce of poise her mother had ever instilled in her, she stood as tall and straight as she could manage, and met Deaton's eyes. She refused to let a little thing like being mostly dead for a couple days keep her down. She'd let herself freak out,  _alone,_ later. 

"I'm pretty clearly not going on a rampage, so I think you're safe to let me out now."

They both looked at the circle of mountain ash at her feet. 

"I'm inclined to agree," Deaton replied. With a wave of his hand, the ash scattered and the circle was broken. The heavy weight of the magic disappeared from the room, and Laura found she could breathe easy again. 

"I need to find out who the hell killed me before they hurt anyone else," Laura told him. "Any suggestions?" 

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I wish I did."

Laura sighed. "Yeah, me too."

 

* * *

 

Deaton insisted on taking her to the nearest motel so she could get cleaned up. He paid, since she had left her purse (thus her ID and money) in the Camaro, and left her alone in the quiet room. Before she could dwell too long on things, she forced herself to strip and get in the shower, quickly scrubbing away the blood and dirt from her body. She was out in under ten minutes, quickly drying off, and putting her dirty clothes back on. The clothes mostly had dirt on them, and she could deal with that. But a woman covered in blood was a lot more suspicious than just a woman covered in dirt. 

She locked up the room and started walking out to city limits, expecting her car to still be there. 

It wasn't. 

Laura scowled and stared at the dirt where her car should've been. Looking around to make sure there was no one nearby, she took a deep breath. 

_Oh fuck._

The unmistakable scent of her brother filled her lungs. Suddenly, she realized that she had  _died._

She had  _died_. She quickly cast her attention inward, searching for the thick bond that had always tied her to Derek, the one that had only gotten heavier and tighter after the fire, and found nothing. A whimper slipped from her lips. She couldn't feel Derek, and if she couldn't feel him, then he couldn't feel her. And if Derek thought she was dead... _still_ dead...

Fuck. 

He would've come to Beacon Hills. He would've gone... home. 

Laura ran. 

She ran and followed a strangely familiar path through the preserve to the old house. The closer she got, the harder her heart pounded, and the sharper the scent of her own fear -- old and stale -- became. She froze, mid-step, when she found the dried blood and a strip of fabric from her blouse. The stink of her own fear and pain filled her nose until she could almost feel the adrenaline that had pounded through her that night. A growl rumbled in her chest, and she realized that she had shifted to her beta form. 

Her only form. 

Anger rippled through her, and she snarled, snapping her teeth in the air. 

"I'm gonna find you. If you're out there, and you can hear me, I want you to know," she said into the darkness, her eyes casting yellow light across fallen leaves. 

Only the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, and a distant siren answered her. 

"I'm coming for you."


	9. Puppy Eyes & A Death Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Scotty, buddy, who said anything about trust? I guarantee you he doesn't trust us, but he's willing to set aside personal dislike in order to do what needs to be done. Don't be the immature one in the room, buddy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scott isn't exactly a BAD friend but he could use some improvement. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Teen Wolf is not mine  
> CW: n/a

"No."

Stiles glared at Scott for a heartbeat before he remembered that that wasn't the way to get his good buddy to do what he wanted. Wheedling was the best method with Scott -- he couldn't resist good old-fashioned begging.

"Give him a chance, Scotty. I know he's kind of a dick, and he has no social skills, and he growls a lot -- okay, so there are a _lot_ of reasons to tell me no. But he's kind of our only option."

Scott kept shaking his head. "I don't _trust_ him"

Stiles resisted the urge to release a Derek-esque growl in the back of his throat. "Scotty, buddy, who said anything about trust? I guarantee you he doesn't trust us, but he's willing to set aside personal dislike in order to do what needs to be done. Don't be the immature one in the room, buddy."

Okay, so this was a lot less wheedling than he'd actually intended, but Scott was seriously stressing his patience. Like it not, Derek Hale was the only resource they had for basic wolfy information, and with the Alpha still out there killing people, they needed all the help they could get.

"We could talk to Mr. Argent--"

Stiles held up a hand, cutting off the hopeful suggestion before he could finish.

"You would legit rather talk to the man whose job it is to literally kill you and people like you than give Derek a chance?" Stiles just stared at Scott, deadpan. "I don't _like_ Derek any more than you do, but clearly you have a death wish."

Scott groaned. "Stiles..."

Recognizing the signs of Scott's defeat, he grinned. "We'll go after lacrosse. _Do not_ make plans with Allison."

Scott pouted, puppy eyes pathetic and sad.

"But we were talking about studying for --"

" _No, Scott._ You won't study, and you have more important things to do than make out with Allison."

Scott sighed, but nodded. "Okay. But if he's an ass, I'm leaving."

Stiles made an affirming motion with his head, and Scott closed his locker and headed to his next class.

Pulling out his phone, he quickly sent off a text.

_Scott's coming. BE ON UR BEST BEHAVIOR OR HE WILL LEAVE FFS PLS_

As Stiles took his seat behind Lydia, he got a reply.

_No promises._

With a sigh, Stiles quietly rested his forehead on the desk. This was going to be a complete disaster.

 

 

* * *

 

Bobby hadn't really bothered to take notice of Scott McCall until today beyond noting that Stiles had befriended him.

Had the boy always been a werewolf? He was like 83% sure he had not.

After practice, Bobby walked behind the bleachers, and lit a cigarette. Taking a drag, he very quietly let out a muttered, " _For fucks_ _sake."_

He took another drag.

 


End file.
